The End of The Batman
by the stargate time traveller
Summary: A mix of different Batmans mingling with this verse - Bruce Wayne's ailing body threatens to put Batman out of commission, but another disaster, one of morality will make his decision easier.


He was dreaming. He was with his parents. Good people. An attentive mother, beautiful, brainy and very kind to him, and a father who encouraged his hobbies of running, playing and indulging his hobbies of action movies, comics and toys with heroes while both impressed onto him the need to be good and lawful. And then he dreamt of how it all fell apart, how his parents had made the mistake of deciding to take a shortcut down some alleyway where they were met by a man. A man who suddenly snatched the pearl necklace from his mother's throat, and then struggled with his father before a gun went off. He remembered the numbness he had felt kneeling on the cold, hard, wet concrete next to the rapidly cooling corpses of his parents before the alarm went up and he found himself in a corridor, one of the officers had placed his hat on his head to comfort him, to make him feel like a police officer.

The gesture, despite being… strange, had been a comfort to him since it meant he was not alone, but was in fact very much alone, frightened and heartbroken. He remembered the minutes which had felt like hours before Alfred arrived to pick him up from the custody of the officers feeling lost. He remembered the funeral of his parents, the numb feeling of loss and anger that his parents who'd given the city so much had been taken from him before their time, before he returned to school. He remembered how everyone was, how the other kids had isolated him, teased him for losing his parents, and he remembered punching one of them in the face. He remembered vowing after spending 2 years trying to find the man who murdered his family and bring him to justice that if he couldn't find one criminal, then he would deal with all of them. He remembered the training, years spent abroad or in Gotham, learning how to train his body to become the best, recalled the time he spent developing the Bat -Wave computer systems with Alfred's reluctant aid before leaving Gotham and travelled the world. He remembered the training with actors to help him put up a convincing act, using the performance of Tyrone Power from the Mark of Zorro as a template to put people off before meeting criminologists, martial arts teachers and scientists to learn their secrets so he would become a truly flexible fighter.

Then he remembered the feeling of his recon mission, how he nearly failed something so simple because he had failed to take into account his quarry weren't afraid of him, which had made him brood before that bat had flown into his room. Later, with a scalloped cape he had opened a new war on crime, fought with batarangs and fists with lead pellets in his gloves to add more force to his blows and feeling the satisfying crunch of bones as he punched the scum he regularly encountered on the streets, and how for 3 years every single one of his enemies were human, mortal. Ordinary, but they were the only criminals he knew, all the so called supervillians existed only in comicbooks. He had to work fast each time, and more than once was chased in his Batmobile by the GCPD. And then he remembered that fateful night at Arkham Asylum where he would later be haunted by the hyena laugh of what would become his most relentless enemy, and then so many more would come out in the wake of that white faced laughing clown who was more interested in destroying lives and leaving them literally dying of laughter, pitting him against fiery flames, freezing blasts of ice, the cackling cawing of birds with a short, fat man with an overly tall top hat, a raven headed umbrella disguised as a weapon, and a beautiful woman with cat ears, smiling seductively at him. Other memories flashed through his head, making him wake up.

"Ughh!" Bruce growled as he snapped back into consciousness, the pain all over his body which made it hard for him to focus properly being the first thing he noticed on waking up, the memories of his past dying in his mind. He shivered as he took in the Bat cave, the chill making him wish he had a more efficient heating system before he remembered he wasn't wearing any jumper. He rubbed his eyes, though he winced at the pain in the arm and wrist before he noticed the white cast surrounding his other hand. Great, he was stuck here without being able to do anything constructive, and with no Alfred to fend off the callers as well. How long had he been down here, tucked away in his cave? Was it day or night outside the mansion? Bruce swung his aching legs over the gurney and - "Arghhh!" He screamed in pain as he almost collapsed to the ground when he only just managed to grab the metal railing.

Damn, that was too close. He glared at his legs though his entire body ached with various casts encasing his feet and left hand - medical science had come a long way, but the tried and true methods remained the same, and the automatic doctor next to his bed. The machine was one of the latest advances in medical technology. It had been developed by a small team of medical employees at Wayne Industries, the brainchild of a doctor who believed accidents that happened in the home of the terminally sick and injured could be prevented with the right medical knowledge. Bruce had snapped him up when he had heard how so many people had turned him away, laughing because they believed that the current system involving flesh and blood doctors was more than adequate. Bruce had snapped him up because with Alfred long since gone and his body no longer being young and fit enough to put up with the punishment it went through whenever he became the Batman such a system would be needed. Aware he was awake, the automatic doctor remotely operated a simple electronic wheelchair, reminding Bruce of Oracle, and he had a fight to sit in it and wheel to the main computer he made a mental note to buy a walking stick. He checked the Bat wave for the latest info, and he didn't like what he saw.

The automatic doctor was linked to the Bat wave so then the more advanced computer would provide a better medical treatment, and it was instructing him to rest. The Batman's last fight had been against a man who had recently decided to emulate Gearhead with cybernetic technology. Bruce remembered the confrontation. It had been just like the first times he had run into Bane, or Mister Freeze; how he had been overpowered, and suffered damage to his body. In the case of this recent fight it was so similar to Bane, but the Batman had met the villain more than once and he had managed to prevent the worst of the crime wave. But the last battle had made the villain pull out all the stops, and Batman had found himself fighting multiple arms which had emerged from the man's cybernetic body and attacked him. He had managed to dodge most of them, but he had then been wrapped in 3 of them and almost crushed to death. Bruce pushed aside the memory of his last ditch throw of a light grenade in the man's face, and how he'd disabled the man's appendages with the same nanotech he'd borrowed off Gearhead before alerting the police and then returning to the Batcave. The damage to his body was severe - he had multiple broken bones, and it had been a fight just to get into the car and come back, and put himself into the dubious care of the automatic doctor for the first time.

Bruce sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. So many of his bones had been broken, reminding him of the time he'd suffered severe injuries thanks to Bane, but he had been in his prime then and the encounter had made him prepare for any future encounters with super strong enemies. Bruce opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder towards the site where the Batmobile was kept on its turntable. In a large alcove was the Batbot, gleaming hues of dark blue and black. Bruce wheeled his chair towards the edge of the platform and surveyed the rest of the cave. The cave was completely different from the one he had started out with. Unlike when he had first started his mission against crime where the Batcave had simply been a cave that existed on a few levels in a tower like arrangement, the new cave was much wider thanks to that mess when the earthquake hit Gotham.

The quake had destroyed Wayne Mansion, causing it to collapse into the cave beneath it with the force of an avalanche. Despite all that he had lost there were good things. It had taken Bruce 2 years to fully repair the cave to the point the Manson could be rebuilt, but so much had been lost; old possessions of his parents, priceless paintings and items collected by his family, all gone. The earthquake had given Bruce the chance to truly expand the size and scope of the cave and adorn it with new features and fittings though some of the original infrastructure remained the same despite the amount of destruction in the aftermath of the quake. But as he sat there, overlooking the cave, listening to the bats as they flew around, Bruce wondered if it was time for the Batman to finish his career. He had come close to doing it more than once during his career, but he'd always bounced back to fight the good fight. But those times had been when he had won out his inner desires for peace and normality, and he'd found a new trump card to add to his deck of cards. He couldn't help but wheel his chair towards the elevator and descend to the workshop level, and he headed his wheelchair towards one specific part of it. There in front of him when he'd stopped the chair suspended in a cage of aluminium and glass was a prototype batsuit.

It wasn't like his default design - it lacked the scalloped cape he had designed to act as intimidation, a means of protecting the body from bullets, or as an extra gliding aid for moving quickly from high heights to the ground. It was completely black in color with a big red bat in the centre of the chest. The suit was a powered exoskleleton designed to improve speed, endurance, strength and stamina whilst providing the user with advanced tools and weapons. Integrating technology into a batsuit wasn't difficult for Bruce, who had incorporated the wave function into his original and subsequent suits, but this was a more advanced suit and capable of a great deal. But anyone who saw the suit would be instantly disappointed especially if they knew what the suit was capable of providing.

The suit wasn't finished - there were still problems to the design Bruce was trying to correct, and with Lucius Fox long since dead, Bruce had only himself to iron out the flaws in the design but until he'd finished the prototype and tested it in the field there wasn't a lot he could do. "At least this unexpected break means I'll have more time to work on this," Bruce said to himself, the echo of his voice reminding him of how alone he truly was. He missed Alfred. He missed Dick who had left ages ago to establish himself in Bludhaven, and he missed Barbara which made him think about Helena, his estranged daughter, and made his heart ache which made no difference the way it was feeling right now. He was dimly aware of the chair moving and when it stopped he couldn't help the emotions he felt when he found himself parked outside the Batsuit vault. Bruce opened the door and wheeled the chair inside, the lift automatically taking him to the vault. As he opened the door and wheeled himself into the enormous room which automatically lit up as he entered, Bruce felt like he was a man watching his life flash by him on a train.

It seemed appropriate considering what these suits of the past reminded him of. He'd spent the majority of his adult life living inside these suits to fight crime for the Mission, and here they were on display, and he was certain he would have to place the last suit he had worn in the field in this same vault and display them like they were museum exhibits simply because they no longer helped him anymore. Bruce hadn't spent years training himself to just hang his old capes up, no all these suits had played a keen role in his career, and the next suit he was preparing would help him still make a difference. Bruce wheeled his chair around the room, but he couldn't stop himself from wheeling his chair towards the standard suit he had worn for the majority of his career and the first years of the Mission. Bruce remembered how Ethan had described the suit as pajamas and he remembered feeling a bit peeved at the description; he had put a lot of work into designing the suit, its armor and its other features. He opened the case and lightly fingered the suit and the cape, the feeling of the titanium dipped kevlar tri-weave mesh with the under layers beneath the surface reminding him of the days when he had been a young man, and he had simply to don the suit, leap into the Batmobile, and tackle crime without worrying about his increasing lack of speed and ailing heart. But sitting here before the suit after ignoring it for so long since it no longer had any practicality after the events in No Man's Land and that mess with Arkham, all of his suits between then and now had all become heavily armed and armored to take his war to more brutal levels.

Bruce wheeled his chair past the suit he had worn when he had fought back long and hard after Gotham had been hit by that earthquake. He was still haunted by the jaded looks he had received from Jim Gordon, who had been more than right to be angry with him, but he had needed the time to prepare for what he knew was going to be a pitched battle. The suit, outfitted with segmented armor plates, with its massive and bulky utility belt, had been hard for him to get used to, but he had managed it in the end, and the suit still showed the damage it had received during that stage of his war, but it had protected him. After passing more suits, some of them badly damaged in places, Bruce stopped at one particular suit. It was all black, with a simple yellow utility belt circling the waist, and when worn it would give the wearer a more ominous appearance. Bruce had designed this suit when the No Man's Land and Arkham wars had died down, but he had refused to return to his original standard suit.

He wanted a suit which emphasised stealth as well as armor, and he had come up with this, and the suit had been so successful he had worn it for years before his body started to fall apart. Feeling that the nostalgic mood he was in had passed, Bruce wheeled his chair towards costumes he had seen, touched, but never worn. First on the list was the costume Barbara had worn when she'd first begun as Batgirl. Bruce had never wanted to have a partner; his training and his focus on the Mission had made it hard for him to accept that anybody could even begin the understand what the Mission meant to him. But Barbara and Dick had surprised him, even if their eagerness and their youth had blinded them at first. He smiled as he remembered towering over Batgirl and letting her know he knew who she was when Poison Ivy had first appeared in Gotham, how she mentioned the superhero identity code. Bruce had never considered himself a hero and never would.

He was a soldier, a vigilante, not a super hero, but for Barbara the meaning was different. Bruce sighed as he looked at the costume Barbara had worn for the entirety of her career; it was so slapdash, rushed and thrown together, and she had never gotten around to making something different, but Bruce was glad she hadn't as he looked back since it reminded him of the good days where she'd been able to walk. He winced. The moment that had popped into his head, Bruce rested his head against the case and almost gave intro the urge to sob with guilt and anger for what had happened to her, the memory of seeing Barbara lying on that hospital bed, asleep, the doctor gently prodding the soles of her feet with a rod to get a reaction only to find none, and then hearing from Ellen that Barbara had been found in a puddle of blood and semen. Even to this day neither Bruce nor Barbara had any idea if Joker had purposefully shot her simply because he had found out about her double life or just because she was the Commissioner's daughter and had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Joker had never said anything that hinted he had found out Barbara Gordon was Batgirl, and Bruce had never asked him; during their fights he was more interested in smashing his fist into that stupid and twisted grin Joker had worn, so lost in his rage because the clown had pushed the boundary in their private little war. Joker was now targeting anyone, everyone, who had the smallest ties with him, the Batman.

And Barbara Gordon was one of those unfortunates to be in the line of fire. She had paid the price along with Helena and Selina. Bruce still blamed himself for what had happened, for letting Gordon, both Gordons, publicly support him, it was bound to cause trouble and it did.

Joker had seen to that.

Barbara herself hated what the injury had done to her, how it had had ruined her life, how she couldn't follow with her old hobbies of horse riding, gymnastics and climbing, but what really disgusted her was the memory of Joker raping her as consciousness slipped her in and out of limbo after the attack and being unable to do anything about it as the cackling bastard raped her. Bruce had no idea how Barbara coped with the nightmares, but he knew how she felt about being disabled even if his own condition was temporary. passed Dick's costumes and he paused again, this time to remember his adoptive son. Out of everyone barring Selina and Helena, Dick was the only person to know, to truly understand what the Mission meant even if he had never devoted himself to it like Bruce had. The good times he had shared with Dick made him smile, especially that first Christmas where Dick had played that prank on him and Alfred, and then the way they'd just laughed. But if he was thinking about the good times he was destined to inevitably to think about the bad. Like before, Bruce looked down at the floor in shame for the way he had pushed Dick, trying to make him better or at least that was the way he had termed it, but Dick had taken it for what it was. Manipulation.

When Alfred had told him off for it, Bruce had stubbornly kept Dick at arms length even after the younger man realised pushing him aside would cause them both emotional pain, but when Bruce had finally swallowed his stupid pride it hadn't made any difference. Dick was like Helena; neither really wanted anything to do with him. Bruce sighed, and wheeled his chair towards another costume, but this one was different from all the others. It hadn't been worn by someone normal people would call a superhero. Bruce stared at Catwoman's catsuit, unable to stop himself from wanting to break down just looking at it. In his life Bruce had met many women, and since his playboy image had demanded it had slept with more than a few, but they hadn't meant anything to him though he would never hurt them. But in his life only two women had ever made him love. Ellen Yin and Selina Kyle. It was kind of ironic that a vigilante would find some kind of love for a cat burglar and a police officer, two different women on opposite sides of the equation. Refusing to think about how things had gone with either of them, though it was hard for him since Selina had paid the price for their relationship.

Bruce sighed as he stared at her bodysuit with the massive ears and the night vision lenses, remembering their little game of cat and bat when they'd first met, the playful, seductive lilt to her purring voice and he remembered her reaction when she had found out who Batman really was. Selina had met him as Bruce Wayne, and he knew she was unimpressed because of his paintings of dogs. Selina hated dogs. Things had changed for the pair of them, since they were both attracted to one another, not to mention their personas, and they eventually learnt who they were. One thing led to another and the pair of them conceived Helena. Bruce wheeled towards Helena's outfit. It was radically different from all the others, especially her mother's catsuit. It was a basic black top which exposed the midriff and black trousers with a more slimmer utility belt around it, topped with a long leather trenchcoat. Bruce stared at it, his heart breaking beyond its own physical problems. Selina had given up her life of crime to raise their daughter, but she had done it completely alone without his support or Alfred who could have given her all the help in the world, and she had passed down her skills to Helena just in case. Bruce had seen the logic in that mindset even though he had never approved of it considering the Batman mindset that things were black and white. But Selina had taught him about the shades of grey before her death. It was the ironic, evil twist of fate he couldn't forgive; his daughter had watched her mother, his Selina, be stabbed in the middle of a street. Bruce turned away, unable to repress the feeling that he was looking at the twilight of the Batman. And truthfully he was unsure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

* * *

The new Bat suit fit like dream, and it moved perfectly as Bruce got into the Batmobile gently rather than simply leap into it like he had when he was younger. He started the car and drove down one of the tunnels to begin his patrol. The Batman felt a little strange driving in the Batmobile after spending months of recuperation and retraining to regain some of his former strength, and outfitting this new suit to be better after all the testing he'd pushed it through. He'd also programmed an automatic doctor program into the suit's computer to help monitor his health. Tonight was the night he would test it out, but Bruce had no real desire to fight crime tonight unless he had to even if the benefits of learning how the suit could hold up to the punishment it would inevitably get, not to mention how the automatic doctor feature would hold up. As he approached the exit of the tunnel, he checked the Bat wave security sweep. No police were outside, good. Ever since Jim had been retired by politics, much of his work on ridding the GCPD of corruption and its policy of working with Batman to achieve better results had been cast aside in favor of catching the Batman. When he had first started working with the police, especially with Ellen after that mess with Clayface and seeing Ethan's life be torn to shreds, the Batman had not anticipated how good working with people was. He missed that feeling, just like he missed Ethan, Ellen, Barbara, Jim, and Dick and so many others. The new GCPD had an attitude akin to how it was before the Bat signal had first been switched on.

Most of his patrols weren't complete without the persistent car chases. Bruce had given up trying to reforge his former alliance with the cops; he had known Ethan had become steadily convinced having him around was a good thing, though it had taken Ellen some time to think the same thing and that was before Jim appeared on the scene to get the GCPD out of the mess Rojas's attitude had plunged it in. Parking the Batmobile in a deserted side street, he kept the security features online and kept the remote control function on for when he would need it, and then Batman leapt into the air, the synaptic controls extended the wings neatly folded in his shoulders outward. The Batman felt as though he had returned to his past, before he had the Batwing aircraft and had merely used a glider attached to his original suit to get around. But this was different, he felt freer than he had before in a long time. Bruce had always focused on the present rather than the future, so in the past he'd never imagine himself yearning for the company of old friends and dead lovers, but up here he felt free. It felt good to return to his roots as the Batman, it felt so much more simpler, and with most of his former enemies like Penguin and Joker either dead or locked up, much of his work should be easier. Angling his wings down for a descent, and only just remembering to use the wings like he would have a cape, Batman landed ontop of a roof.

Activating the Bat wave and setting it to pick up criminal activity, he waited in the shadows. He could've gone down and looked for trouble anyway, but he wanted the automatic doctor to compile a report he could read later in the Batcave and how his new suit and its features helped his health. "All units, disturbance at 1-15 Palmers." After receiving the address, the Batman leapt into the sky again and glided towards the location. It sounded like a straight forward burglary, and he approached in record time. As he perched himself on the top of the roof, he was reminded of another break in. He shook his head as memories of Catwoman returned to him; he needed to focus on the scene. The small jewelry store was dark with a small van parked outside on the curb, but there were torchlights that were visible. With the binocular feature in his visor, he could see the smashed window of the front door. A snort escaped him, and despite his pledge to push Selina out of his mind, he couldn't help but imagine her contempt for this bunch. Selina had been Gotham's best burglar, and that was saying something about her prowess as she showed up small time burglars. Batman perched himself on the edge, muscles tensed as he prepared to leap from the rooftop, eyes open as he watched for any life beyond the torchlights, but there weren't any. Landing on the top of the van, and taking care of the getaway driver, he quickly jumped off and rushed to a blindspot in the shadows. From there he had a near perfect view of the inside of the store. There were 4 of them inside the store, carelessly stuffing handfuls of rings, necklaces and other pieces into bags. He stepped closer, already planning on dealing with them when it occurred to him to catch them differently than simply smashing through the glass and beating them up in his classic style, but his heart wasn't in it. Not tonight. No, there was a better way. He just needed to be prepared, that was all. He carefully watched the gang; they were halfway through their heist, so they would probably be finished and out and back to their van in another few minutes.

The Batman worked quickly. "There's so much here," the gang members were saying 6 minutes later when they cleared out. "Yah, and no Batman to stop us." The gang laughed. Though one of them seemed less content. "Where do you think the Batman is anyway?"

"Who cares?" The threw the bags of loot into the van and got in and closed the doors, and one of the members knocked on the grille. It slid open. "Get us outta here, I can hear the cops." The sirens signaling the approach of the police, distant at first, was now getting closer to the scene of the robbery. The driver needed no further prompting, and stepped on it and shot out of the space and flashed down the different streets in record time. The gang, thinking they'd made a clean getaway, began to relax and look over their proceeds from the robbery. Everything was amicable enough, and they began chatting casually to each other when one of them peered outside the rear window. "Hey, where are we goin'?" he shouted, alerting the others. "I don't recognise this route-"

"I do, it leads towards a police station." In the driver's cab Batman smiled under his mask, and his smile grew as he heard the shouts from the gang as some of them punched and pounded protests on the wall. He picked up the small remote control he'd left on the dash and pressed the button. From the other side of the wall separating the cab from the back he heard a thumping hissing sound and cries of surprise and spurting coughs when the sleeping gas hit them. There were a few more weak bangs on the walls, but the Batman guessed from the sounds of bodies collapsing the whole gang were now under. As he drove the van with the gang and the stolen goods to the police station, Batman thought about what he had done, and how he'd taken the gang down.

He had done his duty as a vigilante and quickly overpowered the gang, but he'd never resorted to these methods before. He'd always favored the surprise and attack method, but truthfully it made no difference to him how he took down the opposition, it was just new to him. The van was getting closer to the station now, and soon he'd have to get away before trigger happy officers tried to shoot him, and he had no idea just how resilient the new material of his suit was to intense bullet fire despite the multiple trial tests he'd made on it and he didn't know if some of the police carried more powerful guns or different types of ammunition besides the regulation type they should have. Some corrupt cops had guns and weapons they shouldn't have and the Batman knew it, and with Gordon and Ellen no longer serving members of the GCPD where they'd been able to keep an eye out and restrict the corrupt police officers his options were limited. The Batman recklessly drove through the traffic without any of his normal finesse, and spotted the police station ahead, a plan in his mind as he drove closer. As the headlights picked up the station and car details, he saw the figures of people wearing police uniforms. Uh oh. This wasn't going to be good. Swerving hard and managing to avoid the officers who jumped out of the way, swearing at him, Batman swung the van around and stopped. After releasing himself from the seatbelt he got out, taking a smoke pellet from his belt as he did so, and peered round the side. He'd parked the van so the back doors would be pointing straight at the police, but he needed them to see him so they'd open the back of the van, and if they didn't then he'd be really disappointed. When they finally picked out his silhouette, their reactions of drawing their weapons and telling him to freeze were ignored. The police's threats were generally meaningless to him, and besides he had no intention of surrendering - if people learnt the Batman was in fact Bruce Wayne, he would lose his edge in both worlds. Besides he still had much work to do. The Batman dropped the pellet and retreated into the shadows. After he'd flown to the top of the building, he looked over the edge. The van's doors had been opened, and the gang members were being taken out. From his vantage point Batman could hear the overlapping voices of the cops, but truthfully he didn't care what they said. It was their fault for not getting to the robbery in time, but he didn't care. It was good to announce his return since that mess months ago. Seeing there was little point staying around here the Batman leaped into the air and continued his patrol of the city.

* * *

He didn't return to the Batcave until early morning and by then he was physically tired. Bruce had spent years training his body to the peak of human performance, but while he had managed to overcome many of the physical issues which came from such intense training he was unable to deal with Man's old enemy, Time. He was simply getting older and slower, and there was no way he could avoid that. Bruce knew he would soon have to retire from his career, but he wasn't ready for it yet. During last nights patrol he had run down that jewelry store gang and delivered them to the police, free of charge despite their belligerence, though it made things much more easy for him since he knew where he stood with the police now. It really saddened Bruce that a few pompous fools working together had systematically destroyed what he and his alliance with Jim had brought to the city. Working with Jim Gordon and Ellen Yin and some of the other officers who he'd earned respect from had been nice since it meant he wasn't alone despite having Robin and Batgirl with him, but the three of them had been vigilantes and that meant that what they were doing was against the law. Ellen had once told him that Ethan had publicly told Rojas during a briefing during that time Joker had come up with that putty formula which led to Clayface, and with it a whole string of grief, that maybe the GCPD would have much more success if they worked with the Batman.

Hearing that about his friend who had gone through so much pain and grief because of Joker and the stress his ignorant and rather stupid chief had warmed Bruce's heart. He had tried to tell Ethan about his life as the Batman, but it hadn't happened, and the result was Bruce had lost some of his trust in Ethan. But this wasn't the time to think about the past - his alliance with the police was over now, and it was never coming back. He'd also broken up a small case of smuggling at the docks. He had also hung a man with a gun upside down from the top of a building on a flagpole after punching his face with enough force to break the skull and cave it in, but he hadn't resisted it, especially when he saw the gun was leveled against a mother, a father and two small children. The sight of the attempted mugging with the father trying to protect his family had sparked off a red hot fury in the Batman that had ignited into a white hot rage. Hopefully the police will bring down a man with a respectable fear of the night, but Bruce somehow doubted it; they came back and always would. He'd also sorted out a few drug dealers, and that was it. After shedding the Batsuit and leaving the cave and setting the computer to analyse the suit and its potential weaknesses, Bruce headed up into the mansion and did a basic check before he headed for the shower to wash off the nights work. As the hot water splashed over his aching body, Bruce worked to keep his heart rate low; he'd had a few painful spikes whilst out there, and while he'd managed to limit himself to resorting to the same tactics he'd used on the first gang he'd cornered last night they had still come, and he'd needed to push his body further again. After getting out and toweling himself dry, Bruce decided that the Batman was going to have to be careful, and so was he. For the next few days after his return to the Mission he had dedicated his life to, Bruce spent his time at Wayne Industries, Wayne Mansion, the Batcave and obviously the streets. His months spent in isolation had caused his family's company to suffer slightly, but he couldn't just turn up in a wheelchair and pretend no-one would notice. His employees weren't that stupid or blind, and they would talk if they saw the state he was in.

Unfortunately, quite a few people in his company were in the midst of making deals behind his back. In his youth Bruce had played the fop to perfection thanks to the actors he had met on his travels, but as he had grown older and his alter ego's hard core began to surface in public he had made it clear to those who had refused to take him seriously that they had made a grave mistake. Bruce's no nonsense persona might have raised suspicions back then, but he hadn't cared. He had simply grown tired of portraying himself as carefree playboy even if it had protected his identity as the Batman. When he had returned to work he had needed to remind people who was the boss, and needless to say quite a few people were not happy, but Bruce didn't care. He had never cared about the opinions other had of him, if he had then the way people called him a 'pompous rich kid with a silver spoon in his mouth' would have bothered him. Bruce had, in fact, found some of the names really interesting and sometimes even funny - it never failed to amaze him just how limited the insults thrown at him by other people. In actual fact all they had done was make his job as the Batman easier, in his opinion. At his mansion he busied himself around the house, trying to keep it more or less like how Alfred had kept it. Bruce had picked up many things during his life, and keeping clean wasn't that difficult for him especially at his current age. He made it simpler on himself by closing and locking different rooms of the mansion - it wasn't like he would need some of them, just the necessary areas, and if he routinely cleaned them once in a while they wouldn't look like a spider's holiday camp. When he wasn't at work or in the mansion just trying to rest, he was in the Batcave and did some maintenance. For the next 3 months Bruce Wayne's life was this straight forward, and when he donned the mask of Batman for him life was much more easier. But then the problems started.

* * *

"Aagh" Bruce grunted under his mask as he clutched his chest, it felt as though his heart was exploding. His muscles and legs trembled as he leaned against a wall. The agony searing through him was so great he almost cried out in pain, and he could taste the coppery taste of blood. He was bitting on his own tongue. It seemed to take an eternity before the pain subsided, but his was still trembling from the after effects of the heart attack. Batman leaned against a wall, almost sliding to the ground as he tried to breath desperately. The heart attacks were getting more and more frequent as the stress he was putting on himself was getting too much. Bruce had known his body was falling apart, and while the new suit he wore enhanced his ailing body and made up for his waning strength and agility it couldn't miraculously keep everything fine. Batman removed the computer pad from his utility belt and accessed the Bat Wave. He had learnt enough about heart attacks to know that the type of work he did was anything but light, and that his body may take time to recover. After standing up again with difficulty, Batman pressed the Batmobile remote - there was no way he was going to fly back to the car in his current state, and besides he needed the time to recover some of his health.

Bruce had already suffered quite a few heart attacks in the last few months and was on Beta blockers, but he would have to see a doctor in the near future even if he tried to ignore the side effects of the drugs he was taking. Cold hands and feet and tiredness were not things he needed if he would continue as the Batman. Bruce knew he couldn't continue being Batman for long even if every time he went out made all the difference to the city despite the police no longer counting as allies, and Barbara no longer fit enough to be Batgirl or any kind of resemblance, and with Nightwing long since gone he was alone. A rumbling roar of the approaching Batmobile interrupted his gloomy thoughts. He stood quietly as the car rumbled to a halt and opened up. Batman climbed inside and did his seat belt up, but he closed his eyes and almost fell asleep. He was so tired of this, tired of being Batman and now tired of his waning health. Bruce started the Batmobile and drove away slowly from where he'd landed when the heart attack started taking root. He wasn't planning on continuing his patrol - he was fanatical about his mission, not stupid, all he wanted was to arrange for a doctor to visit him at the manor - he knew more than a few private doctors who would visit, and he would just rest. But as he drove around the streets Batman couldn't help but feel a swoop of anger and frustration. This was not how he had envisioned his Mission ending. He had imagined it differently to something like a heart attack finally killing him. Depression set in as Bruce considered his rather bleak future - his body was falling apart despite the millions he had spent developing his power suit over the last few years to compensate for his troubles except his heart was letting him down, Dick was gone, Alfred was dead, Barbara had her own life, Selina was dead, Ellen had left, and Helena rarely even wrote to him, never mind speak to him. What a miserable life he had led, but there was nothing he could do about it now. When he realised he was in the wrong place, too far from one of the Batcave entrances dotted around the city, Bruce was surprised when he realised the Batmobile was now outside the last place he had expected. He was outside the same tower block of apartments Selina had lived. Batman didn't get out of the Batmobile, he just craned his head upwards so he could see the whole building. Helena had taken over the apartment when Selina had died, but she had moved out and rented the place before selling it up when she decided to leave Gotham. Bruce looked away, remembering the last time he had stepped into that apartment, just after Selina's death. The moment he and Alfred had walked through the door, Helena had thrown herself at him like a hellcat, screaming and kicking at him that she hated him for her mother's death.

Bruce stared up at the tower, half tempted to go into Selina's apartment, ailing body and strength or not. He closed his eyes, bringing up a memory of one of the two women he had loved with all his heart. He remembered sitting outside Selina's window, waiting for her to make an appearance and surprising her. Selina had rarely squealed with delight, but he remembered how she had sounded whenever they had sex. When he opened his eyes Bruce felt his eyes water as he stared upward with regret. He was so stupid. He had spent his entire life since mum and dad had died in that alley preparing to take a fight beyond the law onto the streets that he'd missed out on so much. He should have pressed Selina into marrying him, but she had been right when she'd said that he would never stop being Batman. Bowing his head in shame, Bruce got back into the Batmobile and drove off.

* * *

Bruce was surprised when Barbara visited him. She arrived 10 minutes after a doctor had been called out to check him over after the recent heart attack and he was glad of the visit; Bruce might have been a loner by nature and by his work ethic since he had known he couldn't simply ask anyone to help him on the streets, so it was good his first real partner was coming to visit after being visited by a doctor. Bruce knew he had to stop being the Batman for a while and was prepared for it. By the time Barbara visited him Bruce was already contemplating visiting a hospital to find if there was some quicker way of speeding the recovery time. He already knew he he wasn't going to continue being Batman forever, but if he could fit just one more night in… After buzzing in Barbara came into the mansion, greeted by Bruce cordially. It had always been hard for Bruce to show any real emotion and joy when it came to his friends - the ones he had as Bruce Wayne and not as Batman didn't count, he still remembered the pain and grief Will and Andy Mallory had caused him when he found out the truth about them when they'd donned the Wrath and Scorn identities.

But when it came to those who knew who the Batman was, Bruce wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't stupid - he knew his parents deaths had left a mark on him which made him emotionally stunted, but he did have feelings and he did care despite what people thought about him. It did hurt him whenever someone remarked he was cold and uncaring. Why was it that so many people put so much stock into feelings when there was something more meaningful to do? Despite his practice and his approach to feelings, Bruce had no trouble showing feelings towards Barbara. They stemmed from guilt, mostly - in his eyes the mission should only have affected him, not innocent kids. Ever since Barbara had gone from an athletic girl to a wheelchair bound invalid, Bruce had made sure the mansion was wheelchair friendly. "Hello Barbara," he greeted her, studying her. "Hi Bruce, how are things?" Barbara asked, smiling up at him.

Bruce shrugged. "Not bad, anyway please come in." Bruce closed the door after Barbara entered and they headed for the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye as he made some tea Bruce could take in the small smile on Barbara's face as well as take in the way she had grown up after Joker had taken away her dreams. When Barbara had first met him she'd been an overexcitable, overeager, girl who was willing to prove herself to him despite thinking what they were doing was a game. While he could see she had matured into a beautiful woman who refused to let her crippled body get in the way of her life, he could see the same strength in her eyes her father had. He also knew better than to underestimate her - Barbara had a number of non lethal weapons installed in that chair, ready to spring out at a moment's notice. Once he'd safely moved everything onto a serving tray, Bruce silently escorted Barbara upstairs. Once in the lounge where they soaked up mutually good memories of Dick and Alfred before things went wrong, Bruce served Barbara her tea. She smacked her lips at the taste with a grin, "You remembered."

"I learnt from the master," Bruce chuckled. "He made sure I knew how to prepare everything, and woe betide me if I failed even once."

"I'll bet," Barbara's smirk disappeared, and her face became serious. "How are things? I know you've recently returned to being Batman." Bruce wasn't going to ask how she knew that to word it the way she had. Barbara's knowledge of computers was greater than his own. She had, with some help, managed to create her own version of the Bat wave. It wouldn't take much for her to make her own tap into his computer system to catch up on all that he'd been up to.

Knowing better than to think Barbara hadn't already found a way to hack into the Bat Wave and get to the life support records of the new suit, Bruce decided to be stall and ask Barbara how she was. Judging from the look on her face he could see she wasn't amused but she decided to humor him nonetheless. "I'm going into semi retirement, Bruce though I'll still be on top of things with the small detective agency I set up, but I won't be Oracle for vigilantes anymore. Things haven't been going well since things with the GCPD went sour, and my last team of Birds of Prey just left, and I can't be bothered to set up a new team only for them to go the same way. Things have changed and not for the better. Our type of justice is dying out."

"I don't believe that," Bruce replied with a hint of his stubbornness showing through. Barbara had obviously expected him to say something like that, and was prepared for it. But Bruce conceded. "I'm thinking of retiring anyway," he admitted. Bruce wouldn't admit to something like that unless he had no choice, and Barbara knew it. "Why?" Bruce sighed at the simple, one word questions. "I'm tired," he said shortly, but it was like a dam that just broke. Bruce had no idea why he was even telling Barbara all this and felt it had something to do with the news she herself was turning her back on being the Oracle. Barbara wouldn't have dreamt of doing something like that after all the work she had put into trying to recover, so she must have been feeling the change and had not liked it an inch. "I built a powered exoskeleton to keep my body together, but the suit wasn't designed to be a permanent arrangement. It was designed to keep me going, to make sure I saw the Mission through." Bruce thought he saw an angry frown on Barbara's face when he mentioned the mission, but it disappeared quickly. "But last night," he pressed on, "I had a heart attack." Barbara winced. "The doctor left before you arrived. He told me to take it easy."

"Maybe he's right, but I know you Bruce. Something else is wrong, isn't there?" Bruce looked down at the floor. He didn't reply. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Bat wave went off. Bruce's head shot up, delighted by the interruption. "Bruce, don't, if you've had a heart attack already, it could -" Barbara tried to say, but Bruce left quickly without saying a word. He already knew what she was about to say. Bruce sat down in the chair in front of the computer. Data had already streamed in and Bruce's eyes narrowed as anger started pulsing through his body. A child had been abducted and the police were trying to hunt down the kidnapper. The good news was the parents had identified the kidnapper responsible. Bruce felt loathing for the man himself. Stephen Brennan was a psychopath.

He had grown up in an abusive home before being fostered by a loving family, something he didn't reciprocate and as he'd grown older he had begun to terrorise his neighborhood and foster parents until they wanted nothing to do with him. Brennan was well known to Gotham since he had begun making headlines in various other newspapers all over the country. It had become really well known he wanted a family, a pure family, but he always murdered the children unlucky enough to cross his path and there were cemeteries all over the country filled with graves of children and their parents who had tried to stop him. Usually a face would be forgotten quickly, but Brennan\s habit of kidnapping children only to kill them later in truly sick ways had become well well known and when it was reported he was in Gotham hundreds of parents had boycotted their own homes to keep their children from leaving. Batman himself had tried to track the miserable lowlife down, but no such luck. Bruce heard a noise behind him and so he wasn't surprised when he heard his old friend sidle up behind him. "That monster is up to his tricks again I see," Barbara observed grimly as she glared at the screen. "So it seems," Bruce replied in a tightly controlled voice. He got out of the chair, shaking with anger and fury that Brennan was still out there. No more, he decreed. This madness had gone on long enough. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Barbara's worried face and he knew she knew what he was planning to do. But she wasn't going to say anything. Instead she sighed and wheeled her chair towards the console of the Bat Wave control station. He watched her work on the console. "I'm patching Adelphi into the B wave to give you access to the security cameras," she told him as he donned his Batsuit and got into the Batmobile.

Batman had become an expert in Stephen Brennan - he wasn't as obvious as Joker had been but he was just as smart as the Clown Prince of Crime - and knew the man had an overinflated image of himself. The trouble with Brennan was he stuck to the same habits he always followed over and over again like many people did. Criminals thought they were different from everyone else but Bruce knew that wasn't true. Everyone followed the same habits, they ate different foods, went to the same places time and time again. Brennan wasn't any different. He had already visited the child's home, already knowing her name was Mia Dalton. 10 years old. He had no idea why the Daltons had suddenly become an object of Brennan's twisted obsessions but knew it was probably because he seen her somewhere and had become enamoured with her. It was the same story with other kids, and Bruce had a truly terrible idea she would become the latest in a long line of victims. Batman's hands tightened around the steering wheel as he looked at the Scent locator built into the Batmobile. It was one of the latest pieces of equipment he had in his arsenal and it worked by tracing a particular DNA strand belonging to a person. The principles of the locator were already well known to Batman, but he had had a hard enough time learning how to build one since it was so complicated, particularly the way he had designed his own set up.

The Scent locator had been devised by a hunter a few years ago. He had been having trouble tracking down elusive prey and had sought out a truly ingenious method of hunting them and simply didn't care if he was being unsporting. Bruce had gotten the principles of the technology and had worked to devise his own for monsters like Brennan and while he had seen the advantages behind the technology he had had a hard time making it work. The reason was simple; Gotham itself. The Scent locator was confused with the high population of the city, its technology, mobile phones, computers, subway trains, monorails, cars and planes. It had been designed to track animals in wildernesses not modern cities. It had taken Bruce months with Barbara's suggestion that instead of bypassing the computers in the city they instead use them to function like radio receivers to bounce the information around to track the chosen criminal down. A few months back before he had begun wearing his current suit, Batman had encountered Brennan and had managed to get some of his hair. Brennan's sample was the first to be added to the locator's database once the DNA had been scanned in, but Bruce had had so many things happen since then which meant Brennan had ceased being an immediate priority. This was all his fault. If he'd concentrated he might have been able to avoid this. After activating the Scent locator's network, Bruce stopped the Batmobile and waited for it to get to work. He breathed in deeply and tried to relax as the locator went to work and tried not to think about the potential waste of time and effort he had made his telecommunications company go through to add boosters to the city' s communications to allow this to work right. While he had been at Mia's home he had collected a strand of her hair from a brush in her room, praying that the girl's mother didn't share the comb with the daughter.

The locator pinged like a sonar ping on a submarine. Bruce looked at it and a rare smile broke across his face underneath the Batman cowl. He started the car up and started driving towards the site where Brennan was when it occurred to him that Mia might not be with him. Gritting his teeth and cursing angrily, he set the locator to look for Mia's. Long moments passed as the Scent Locator bounced the new DNA strand around the network as it tried to track it down before the scan came back. Mia was with Brennan, at an old fairground.

* * *

When Joker had been around he had often used derelict fairgrounds as hideouts or battlegrounds simply because he could and simply because no one visited them. Brennan was the same when it came to choosing the right type of hideout, but Bruce would've expected someone like him to be a little more intelligent. As he approached the fairground after losing a few police patrol cars who chased him through the streets, Batman shut down the engines and let the Batmobile slow to a crawl before parking it in a dark corner. He knew it was possible Brennan had heard the car approach, but it was unlikely since he and Mia were still present.

Batman raced as carefully as he could to the fairground, keeping his eyes open in case there were traps nearby. Brennan sometimes left nasty bombs around most of his hideouts and Bruce had no time to play games with them. When he finally got inside the Hall of Mirrors where the Scent locator had picked them out he felt as though his blood was turning to ice as he stared in utter horror at the scene before him. Mia Dalton was half naked and shaking with pain and terror as she moaned through a gag roughly shoved into her mouth. She was tied to a table and Brennan was standing over her half naked himself, his short hair cut in the classic SS style. Bruce shook himself, with fury as Brennan stroked the girls head, whispering that she would make a wonderful pure mother and though he couldn't really see her face Batman knew Mia wished she were dead but he would make sure she got to live another day. He watched petrified and used his connection to the Bat wave for Barbara to watch and gather evidence, and ignored her voice telling him to do something even as Brennan stroked his member ready for another round of sex.

Without even thinking about what he was doing Batman had whipped out a Batarang and threw it directly towards Brennan. "BRUCE!" Barbara screamed through the comm link when the weapon sliced through Brennan's member and it dropped to the ground. The psychopath screamed in surprise and pain and Batman used that advantage. Batman punched Brennan hard in the face, making sure to channel all of what was left of his physical strength which had become augmented by the Batsuit's exoskeleton. The force of the punch shattered Brennan's nose and threatened to cave the rest of his skull in, but the thing - Bruce wasn't going to call Brennan a man after what he'd done - and he didn't stop. All he had in his mind was Barbara screaming at him to stop and the image of Mia Dalton, an innocent young girl who should be enjoying life and not be raped by a psychopath who wanted something he simply wasn't going to receive. Finally Batman had had enough to simply punching Brennan so he pulled him up roughly by the throat. Brennan pulled a gun out from under his coat, but Batman knocked it aside, not bothering to see where the weapon landed and not really caring either. "No more," he growled, "no more of you. No more rapes, no more murders, no more families torn apart by you!" Brennan gurgled as Batman's hand clenched tighter around his throat, his skin discoloring before Batman threw him away. Brennan flew across the space to crash against a wall, tripping over his own trousers which were still down to the ankles of his blood stained legs. The hacking coughs echoed around the dingy room, the sounds distorting until they sounded like they were inhuman. Brennan was shaking on the floor, gasping and panting for air but there were whines of pain and his hands had gone to cover his groin. Bruce stalked closer towards him, aware of and ignoring Barbara's desperate calls over the cowl's radio. His eyes were fixed directly on Brennan, ignoring Mia completely, something he had never done before but now he couldn't help himself. He had never actually gone as far as to use one of his own batarangs to purposefully castrate someone before, but while he could probably have found a different way so long ago Bruce was simply tired of scum like this being locked up only to be let out again, though in Brennan's case it was unlikely. He didn't care if he had maimed the bastard for life, it was the least he deserved for what he had done. And yeah the police were bound to be even more prepared to call him a vigilante, but truthfully he no longer cared and couldn't muster the effort anymore.

Batman wasn't even sure what he was planning to do to Brennan by the time he reached him when…...BANG! BANG! BANG! Three bullets smashed into him, one dangerously close to his left eye, and the other two impacted against his chest armor. Gritting his teeth Bruce turned to find himself staring at a young kid who couldn't be older than 15 or so, holding a gun. His resemblance to Brennan was unmistakeable. Bruce was furious at himself for not bothering to check if Brennan was the only one here, and he rushed towards the kid who suddenly tensed up, terror written all over his face…. Pain shot right through Bruce's chest and he clutched his chest, gritting his teeth to swallow down the reflexive scream that wanted to burst out of his throat. He was having a heart attack, why now!? Bruce lay on the ground, writhing in pain as the boy stood over him, but he didn't realise that until he heard the gun click.

Batman raised his head to try to see if he could at least move some part of him or check if he could leap up and disarm the kid. Through his pain filled eyes Batman saw the gun he'd knocked away from Brennan. The kid hadn't noticed it yet or he'd have picked it up, but all he was doing was boasting.

"All my life I've heard about the big bad Batman," the kid was saying, "not so high and mighty now, are ya?" Bruce didn't say a word, didn't give any sign he'd even heard the boy. He knew the kid was going to fire at him again, knew his body was still recovering from the heart attack and knew even with his Batsuit it wasn't invincible. He could still get hurt, and right now fear was clouding his judgement. Without even thinking of the consequences Batman reached for the gun and aimed it right at the kid's head. It was comical in a dark way to see the terror on the boy's face since he had a gun as well but he didn't care about that. Somehow holding the gun gave Bruce the strength he needed to break through the pain holding him down.

The kid was shaking, and Bruce realised just by looking at him that he didn't have what it took to shoot someone face to face - he was okay with putting a few slugs into somebody's side, not their face. The kid lost his nerve, looked over at Brennan, and just hightailed it. Batman had seen the move in advance, and the heavy batarang to the back of his head was proof. Batman clambered up to his feet, pain shooting through his chest. He looked at the downed kid and then back at Brennan. The pervert was looking at him fearfully. Batman couldn't understand why before he remembered and his mind reset from the desperate adrenaline rush that had saved his life. God what had he done? Batman looked down at the gun in his hand, shaking in shock and horror, unwilling to believe what he was holding. This had to be a terrible dream, but it wasn't and he knew it. He had held a gun - sure he hadn't fired it but holding it was bad enough, and being prepared to use it went against everything he stood for as Batman. It was a gun that had created him in the first place with the deaths of his parents. Bruce had sworn never to use a gun in his life, and besides he didn't have the mentality to use one anyway. He felt sick. Desperately he turned his head and he saw something that petrified him even more than seeing a gun in his hand. Mia was crawling away from him, terror clear in her eyes, but understanding as well. Batman didn't know what to say to her to make the fear go away. He looked down at his offending hand holding the gun and he threw it away as hard as he could. Finally he paid attention to Barbara's voice. The crippled red head's voice was empty. "Make sure she is okay and then get back here."

Barbara was waiting for him to return. After making sure neither Brennan or his accomplice - he didn't care less who he was - were properly restrained, he had returned to Mia. The girl had calmed down and told him she understood why he had done what he had. Batman had been grateful until she had told him she had remembered him castrating Brennan and then punching him mercilessly before picking the gun up.

The girl was now with her parents, their happy smiles as they embraced their daughter, tears leaking from their eyes as they held her in relief when so many others had not been as fortunate. Batman had driven away, feeling the area around his chest where Mia had gently hugged him before kissing him on the cheek. He had driven to and from the Dalton family with a numb feeling. Once he had left the Daltons he'd taken his mask off. He had no right to call himself the Batman anymore. He had broken his vow to his parents. Bruce got out of the Batmobile slowly and reverently petted it, smiling at the metallic thud before he closed it shut with the Bat-wave remote.

Barbara didn't say a word until he reached her on the upper floor. "I don't know what came over me-" he tried to say, but Barbara was all over him.

"You were trying to survive. Everyone else would've done the same thing," she told him before she sighed. She told him a short story about her father, how he had tried to stop using guns to solve every problem like other more belligerent police officers did. It was a commendable attitude to have, but it did come with disadvantages. There were dozens of police forces around the world that didn't allow their officers to use firearms. It was a policy Batman admired and wished the United States would allow, but with how the law worked and how guns were so prevalent with thugs carrying them and kids watching those damn movies, the police had to show they were prepared to defend themselves. Jim had had a bad experience with a gun thanks to one of his own colleagues, so he had stopped using his but it took a lot of getting used to. In the end he had had no choice when a really nasty criminal tried to murder a hostage. The gun had saved her life, and Jim's. Bruce listened silently while Barbara told him a story she had sworn never to tell anyone else, apparently Jim hated thinking about it. Bruce could not blame him.

Barbara continued to tell him the story and its inevitable outcome even as Bruce led her towards the Bat suit vault to get changed. Bruce felt Barbara's eyes probe him as he slipped off the suit and put it on a mannequin inside the case.

"You're really doing this?" she asked him as he slipped the gauntleted gloves on and was straightening the rest of the suit out. Bruce paused, surprised she was asking that question. "You know of my history, my vow to my parents," he said tersely. Barbara nodded but he didn't notice. "I can't go on Barbara, and its not just because I picked that gun up, and no I don't regret using a batarang to castrate Brennan. He deserved what he got. Its everything else; the heart attacks, my waning health. My spirit is willing to go on until my dying breath, but the rest of me… I've been trying to tell myself to go on a bit longer, even as my body fell apart around me. Maybe tonights the perfect night to stop."

Barbara didn't raise any protests. She went to the computer and started inputting the commands into the Bat wave to shut down and seal every entrance and exit from the cave while Bruce put the mask on the mannequin and shut the case but he couldn't walk away. The suit in this case had only seen active duty for only a few weeks and now he was hanging it up. Despite all his knowledge and skills Bruce knew he had been kidding himself into thinking this suit alone could keep him going as the Batman forever. Bruce turned and walked away past the other suits, but he didn't stop to look at them. He joined Barbara in the now darkened cave. He programmed the computer to shut down the cave and the generators after the elevator had taken them back into the mansion above. "Let's go," he said quietly to Barbara who glided alongside him to the elevator. Bruce turned to look back on what had been his life's work. "Never again," he said simply and the doors closed on his life like that.

* * *

Bruce hesitated as his hands hovered over the door handle. He couldn't go through with it now after it had taken him a week to muster up enough courage for him to even turn up at the graveyard his parents and Selina were buried here. He felt as though the spirits of his loved ones were looking down at him… and frowning in extreme disapproval. Oh come on, you pathetic loser, the vicious part of his mind spat at him, drive away, leave like you've always done. You just left Selina without really caring if she was okay in the long term, with your daughter, why should now be different? That voice more than anything snapped the sense back into his face and gave him the courage to step out of his car. Out of long habit Bruce surveyed the graveyard. It was doubtful there would be any trouble, especially this early in the morning. It was now 6:45. Walking the familiar route towards the graves seemed to take forever, but Bruce didn't care. He welcomed the pace since it would give him the time to work out what he planned to say. He stood in front of the graves of Thomas and Martha Wayne and looked at the grave next to it. Helena had not liked it when he'd arranged to have Selina buried next to two people whom she had never met, and she had liked it least when she figured it was for his benefit and not hers. Bruce had already been nursing the guilt over what happened to Selina and knew he had no right to be selfish when he'd taken her wishes for him to keep any time they had together to a minimum. For Helena the fact he'd arranged for her mother to be buried next to his parents was solely for his benefit, that and the knowledge she was in the company of the parents of the father she wanted nothing to do with, was a crime. But right now that guilt was eating away at him and standing in front of the graves told Bruce one thing. His loved ones were ashamed of him. His knees shook as he fell to the ground. He hugged the monument of his parents, somehow managing to wrap his right arm around the grave of the woman he had tried to marry more than once.

"I am so sorry," he said, sobs breaking out of his voice, for once not even restrained. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "I failed. I let you down. I broke my vow to never pick up a gun. Please forgive me." There was no reply. But Bruce had encountered enough strange things during his life to know ghosts existed and not all of them were really benign. The only problem was the ghosts he wanted to speak to weren't speaking.

The End.


End file.
